


Stand Beside Me

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Nashville (TV)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Coma, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9868328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: One shot set after the end of 5x08"The love they felt for each other always permeated the spaces they found themselves in together. It was palpable, and held them up when everything else tried to tear them down and pull them apart. The future scared him, bile rose repeatedly in his throat thinking of it, but for now, the love that he felt while he held to a few of her lifeless fingers and sat right beside her was keeping him afloat."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the ending of 5x08. Light spoilers if you've not seen it. Some little lines of dialogue are taken directly from the scenes close to the end. I expanded on one a little bit.

**Stand Beside Me**

 

 

Deacon Claybourne sat in the waiting area of the local hospital with his hands folded in his lap, head bent looking in the direction of the floor. The flecks of grey black throughout the tile burned into his retinas almost painfully, matching the grip that had taken his equally pained heart hostage. Mind rewound for the umpteenth time back to Rayna's choked sobs as they met his ear through the phone.

 

 

_“Rayna, what is it, sweetie?”_

 

 

_“Deacon...something happened...” He could barely make out her words. “Something terrible happened. I'm okay. I'm okay now, I'm coming home.”_

 

 

_“Come home, baby.” He hated that she was hurting, couldn't get out what it was that so desperately plagued her, and his mind went to the worst possible options when he heard her cry or knew that she was in trouble. Always, he just wanted to fix it. “We'll talk about it together when you come home.”_

 

 

 

_Loud screeching._

 

 

_Shattering glass._

 

 

_One last exclamation of his name and the line going dead with empty silence, white noise._

 

 

She hadn't come home. This was something he wasn't sure he'd be able to fix or even live through himself. She'd been in the back of a police car, possibly one of the better places you could be were a situation such as the one they now found themselves in to bestow itself. The driver had been injured, though not nearly as gravely as his wife, had been able to extricate himself from the rubble that had become the vehicle and call for help, stayed by her side until it came.

 

 

She'd faded in and out of conciousness until it did. He talked to her, she'd opened her eyes a few times at the sound of her name being spoken. Anything that was on his mind was spilled forth from his mouth in effort to keep her awake, but the final time she'd slipped from him, he wondered as his gut clenched involuntarily if she'd ever come back. Deacon had learned that the terrible thing she'd referenced had been her stalker finally catching her at a vulnerable moment, proverbially – and probably literally too from what he'd been told and pictured in his head of the scenario – backing her into a corner with nobody around but she and him.

 

He'd told her of his pain, his family, probably even gone more than a little crazy more than once. Rayna had managed to stay calm and collected enough to stay alive, her security detail and the cops coming to her rescue when she'd finally been able to place a call to them indicating she needed it. They'd caught him, and hopefully he'd get what he deserved, but Deacon couldn't help but think of how unfair it all was. Second car crash, she'd survived the first, survived so much that he'd put her through all by himself. The whole stalker mess in itself would have been enough to drive anybody else mad, but when he'd finally caught up to her (something he shouldn't have even had opportunity enough to do so easily – and something his hired security would pay hugely for should his wife not survive) she'd thought on her feet. Quickly, smartly, calmly, only to have her life turned upside down on the way home the same night.

 

 

Looking up, he noticed the doctor approaching him and was glad that the girls weren't with him. Just the sight of the white coat, the very look and smell of the sterile place in and of itself was enough to make him lose his composure all over again. If the look etched across every inch of the man's face were any indication of the news about to spew forth from his lips, it couldn't be good. Casting a gaze toward the ceiling, he shot up a silent prayer like none he'd said in the recallable past and stood.

 

 

“Doctor,” he said, nodding. “My wife, is she all right? Is Rayna all right?”

 

 

“She's experienced some pretty traumatic injury to the brain,” he said gravely. “We've induced coma to try to reduce swelling and pressure and will monitor her closely.”

 

 

“How long will it take for her to wake up? _Will_ she wake up? She's got two young girls at home who still need their mother.”

 

 

His voice was choked, head spinning with the thought of his wife somewhere entirely unreachable. At that moment he wanted nothing more than for the hell he felt inside to swallow him up, to go to that unreachable place right along with her.

 

 

“We don't know the answers to those questions right now. It doesn't look particularly good, but things can change quickly, or they can do so slowly. Sometimes people make recoveries we didn't expect them to. I've seen more than my share of what many would call a medical miracle, but all we can do for now is wait.”

 

 

“Can I see her?” he asked softly.

 

 

“Of course. Sit with her as long as you like. Talk to her if it helps,” he said. “Sometimes loved ones of patients say that it really does.”

 

 

Leading the way, long white coat swishing behind him to the tempo of his gait, he walked in the direction of Rayna's room, her husband following eagerly, but tentatively, behind. “Call if you need anything,” he said as he stopped in front of the correct door, leaving him to his own devices.

 

 

Standing in the jamb with a hand on each side, he took in the sight of his beloved, so small wrapped up in thin white cotton sheets. A shell of the real Rayna Jaymes was all that lay atop the flimsy cot. Peace played so beautifully across her features he would have assumed her to be sleeping had he not known better, not understood the situation was much more dire. He was grateful that she didn't seem to be suffering. Not right then, anyway. Maybe she would when she woke up, _if_ she woke up. Heart hammered and flipped over within its cavity in his chest. If she didn't, the one suffering – forever more – would be him and the two children he'd be left to raise himself.

 

 

“You're one puzzling bastard, aren't ya?” he murmured, looking up to the heavens. It seemed a cruel joke to have beaten the demons of alcoholism and survived the cancer they had inevitably resulted in just to have his whole life turned upside down and ripped out from beneath him. He'd gotten himself right for her – for Maddie and Daphne too, for himself – but she was the one he'd always wanted, the one who'd stood beside him when he was less than loveable and could've easily walked away but didn't.

 

 

“Hey baby.” Stepping further into the room, his voice was measured, betraying the chaos churning round and round his insides. “I'm here. I'm right here, I'm beside you, and that's where I'm gonna stay.” Pulling a chair close to her bedside, he sat down. It was less than comfortable, but he didn't care, would stay there as long as he needed to however the situation played out. Reaching through the slats in the bed railing, he stroked then gently clasped her fingers in his own.

 

 

“I love you,” he told her. “I've always, always loved you.” Tears sprang forth and fell slowly, he not even caring to wipe at them. So many said real men didn't cry, but he knew Rayna thought the notion silly, knew him to be as real and fallible a man as any and wouldn't chastise him for the display of emotion even if she were able to witness it.

 

 

“You stood beside me,” he said. “You didn't have to, I didn't deserve it, but you did. Next to you is the only place I want to be. I can't stand to see you like this, but we belong beside each other. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

 

Whether or not he understood God's doing, believed that either He or his wife could hear his words, love always permeated the spaces they found themselves in together. It was palpable, and it held them up when everything else tried to tear them down and pull them apart. The future scared him, bile rose repeatedly in his throat thinking of it, but for now, the love that he felt while he held to a few of her lifeless fingers and sat right beside her was keeping him afloat. For now, that was enough.

 


End file.
